


heartbreak is the loneliest road

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, Conversations, Developing Relationship, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Engagement, Episode Related, Episode: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, F/M, Fix-It, Hangover, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Idiots in Love, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Nobility, POV Arya Stark, POV Gendry Waters, POV Multiple, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Season/Series 08, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: Arya realizes that Gendry is very drunk in the moments following his proposal, and has a change of mind.[title from zz ward's "domino" ft. fitz]Please enjoy, comment, and kudos!Feel free to send other requests if you have them, too.





	1. Chapter 1

"That's not me."

She plays herself as dispassionately as possible, thinking Gendry would notice if she seems less sure of her words than she wants to sound. 

_Hoping, perhaps._

Any of those hopes are dashed ones, the moment she's truly let go of him and steps away, planning to grab her arrows and her bow and leave him there as though she'd entirely meant her words. 

Arya might yet die in the south, and even if she survives, she doesn't plan on finding out that he has hopes of her becoming some proper southron lady in his castle, and she reminds herself of that, with as much force as her mind can muster. _Better the end be now._

But she lets go of him, trying to ignore the very obvious pain she's caused, a heartbreak she'd think weak in herself, and Gendry stumbles, his feet unsure, now, beneath his body. 

She looks back, her hand back on her bow already but her eyes able to catch his trying to blink himself to fuller awareness, and concern grabs ahold of her.

"Gendry," she says sternly, as emotionless as she can manage being in front of him. She's always been a bit softer with him - _for_ him - and she almost hates the desperation with which she resents that. 

"Milady," he replies, the syllables slurred, more than his earlier words, barely decipherable. _Had he practiced the rest,_ Arya wonders.

 _Not Gendry Rivers, anymore,_ his voice repeats in her head, another statement that hadn't sat well, one she'd all but ignored.

_When **were** you?_

Arya turns her body back towards his. 

"How much did you have to drink at the feast tonight?"

He raises his eyebrows, not looking at her, and takes a moment - a _long_ moment - in an attempt to recall. 

"Not enough, it seems," he tells her, and his knees buckle. 

She nearly reaches out to help him, settling instead for worriedly watching as he drags himself towards the remaining bags of grain in this fateful supply room.

Many fewer than a couple nights past, she notes, the memory of shoving him against them flooding her, and yet his earlier declarations in her ears again, drunken and half-thought and still...genuine. She wouldn't say they were true, but whether he currently knew his own name or not, Gendry meant them. 

Against what she's told herself she wants, Arya reaches out for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Gendry wakes, and his first realization is that he's in pain.

He can feel his exhausted shoulders tight below him and the sewn cut on his left leg, but it's his head that's got him now, all sharp pain and little else, harsh enough that he groans at the brightness he catches in his attempt to open his eyes, even though the amount of light he notices in that split second is perhaps only from a single candle, and it's not close to him. The sound of his groan feels like it comes from something other than him, but it's still full of a pain that vibrates inside his head.

The second thing he realizes is that his bed is very soft, unusually so. It wasn't a change of perspective from the pains of battle, he didn't think, for he remained greatly uncomfortable, and the previous night it had not felt so nice, even though he'd spent the night before that on a pile of sacks of grain.

 _With Arya._ His heart catches in his throat, and he feels an unexplained confusion somewhere in his chest.

It was all that he'd had to drink, he realizes. That was why he was hurting. It'd been stupid, but the dragon queen had insisted the serving girls pour and pour and pour, and the Hound had functionally nicked a few pitchers for their table alone, and Tormund had insisted on their drinking even more, and Gendry had tried to wait for Arya to come join them, thinking she'd come to the feast eventually, and -

He'd gone looking for her, he remembers, though somehow he hadn't recalled that at first.

He barely gets to wonder if he'd found her, for she speaks a moment later, from quite a few feet away, and he realizes that's why there's light in the room. 

"There's some dreamwine on the bedside table to your right," she says, her voice soft and careful, showing discomfort without meaning to show emotion. It was a tone he'd heard a few times, and he wonders what of her it'd be betraying now, if only he knew what of him she was reacting to. "You probably feel like death."

His reflexes consider a chuckle, and think better halfway through. _She's not wrong about that._ He winces, and sets his right hand out, feeling for whatever is there and finding a wineskin. He's glad it's not a glass as he unsteadily brings it to his lips. They're dry, and Gendry drinks too much, but a few moments later - or perhaps more - he's able to open his eyes somewhat. Only somewhat, but enough to see Arya sat at a table against one of the stone walls, eyes toward what was surely a looking glass with her hands behind her head, doing something to her hair. 

This was her room, not his, he realizes. 

It fills him first with warmth, and then dread. Certainly, she'd have every excuse to remain abed today - and even if not, who would order Arya otherwise? - but she was up nonetheless, seemingly getting ready for the day, her voice cold and body far from his.

He'd said something, something stupid, obviously, something that had pushed her away from him. Had it been soon after he'd found her, or had they been in bed already? Was it the offer of legitimacy, or something else? He'd spent half his day full to the brim of love, and it wasn't hard to imagine he'd been too forward about that. After all she'd seen and everything she'd hidden of herself, he couldn't really know what she was or wasn't ready for. Truth be told, Gendry wasn't sure what he himself was ready for, either, but when it came to Arya he was a follower, and would gladly do as she wished. Not without question or argument, no - but still as she wished.

He watches her finish with her hair, trying to string an entire question together. He has half a mind to mutter an apology instead, but without knowing what to apologize for, he'll never make one that she hears the way he means it, so he doesn't bother with that. 

"I have a war council," she says, interrupting his thoughts as she stands from her chair and goes to her door. She looks back and meets his eyes, then, across the dim room, and he's happy to see they seem softer towards him than her voice. "You should get more rest." 

The door closes quietly, and in the truer quiet Gendry notes an ache in his heart. 

"As my lady commands," he whispers to himself before closing his eyes and letting sleep take him for however much of the day it pleases.


End file.
